


The Five Stages of Grief

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, F/M, Miðgarðr | Midgard, Mortality, POV Loki (Marvel), Pre-Thor: The Dark World, Protective Loki (Marvel), Reverse Chronology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23006530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: "This day, the next, a hundred years, it's nothing! It's a heartbeat. You'll never be ready. The only woman whose love you prized will be snatched from you."Loki could've never been ready.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93





	The Five Stages of Grief

It was in the middle of restless sleep that Loki heard her calling out for him through his dreams, desperate and pleading. He was up and out of his bed in an instant, ice racing through his veins. She never called out to him; she always told him that she did not want to trouble him, that she did not  _ deserve _ to have a god and a prince at her beck and call. 

It usually fell upon him to reach out to her, filling her dreams with memories of their time together, of the things he imagined doing with her, once he could hold her in his arms again. Some nights, Loki would simply use his spells to send her into a deep, dreamless sleep. She toiled away relentlessly, he knew, and it pained him to think of how tired she must be when she fell onto the little pallet where she slept each night. 

He’d promised her, on more than one occasion, that she’d never have to lift a finger again, once he’d found a way to save her from her dreary mortal life, to sweep her away to the Realm Eternal. Until then, when he was far from her side, sweet sleep was the best he could offer her. 

The spells required to reach Midgard without catching the Gatekeeper’s notice were complex, and Loki had yet to perfect them, but with tendrils of his mortal lover’s terror still teasing at his mind, he knew that he could not delay. 

He stumbled into the mortal realm, exhausted and frantic, for even from the forest where he emerged, he could see embers and flame rising from the castle that held his love. The night was full of the screams of dying men, the shouting and clash of metal as the lord’s men met the invaders on the field of battle. 

It was too late for them; Loki had seen hundreds of battles, and it was immediately clear that the castle was lost. His stomach lurched, and he sprinted for the castle, cutting down anyone who stood in his path, regardless of their side in the battle. It was a simple, senseless mortal war. He did not care about the outcome. 

He only cared about her.

Loki hefted heavy chunks of stone rubble aside, blasting away with his magic to clear a path into the castle. Above him, soldiers flung themselves from the parapets to escape the rising flames. No one paid any attention to Loki; they were far too busy fleeing for their lives to notice that an immortal walked among them.

He needed more _ time. _

The men besieging the castle had already breached its walls, and Loki’s fear grew as he passed by the bodies of slain defenders and servants, inhabitants of the castle that he’d never paid much mind to, despite his many visits over the years. 

He found her huddled by the armory, her hand pressed to staunch the bleeding from a cruel gash across her shoulder and chest. Her skin was white as snow, and her eyes closed, and as Loki fell to his knees and pulled her into his arms, he wept, for it was his pain as a god to feel his love’s mortal life run short.

When she opened her eyes, it was the only thing that mattered.

“Edith.” Tears blurred his vision, and Loki furiously wiped them away. He would not allow the sight of her to be obscured. “Edie, little dove, you cannot leave me.”

She smiled up at him. “I tried,” she said. “I tried to wait for you, my prince, to see you once more.”

“You did,” he told her, trying to make his shaking voice calm and soothing, even as he tried to hold together the thread of her life with his magic. “You did, darling girl, and now I am here, and everything—”

“I am afraid, Loki.”

“Do not be afraid.” In his urgency, he could not hide the tremor to his words. “You are my light, my joy. I cannot live without you.” He kissed her cheek; he wanted to be comforting, but his own fear burned bitter in the back of his throat, and words failed him.

“I may die,” she told him, “but my love will not.”

“Edie, without you, I will be in darkness for eternity. I cannot bear it,  _ please.” _ Loki no longer knew if he was begging her, or the gods, or the Norns themselves. He’d never known true loss. The thought of losing her...

“I would not wish for that,” she said. “Eternity is a long time, and I would have you be happy. Only… if you’ll only remember me, Loki, then I will be as immortal as you.” Her smile wavered. “Won’t I?”

“You will,” he promised her, succumbing to his tears. “You will.”

Her blood spread, soaking her tunic, and his, and his hands, and the frozen ground beneath them… and as her heart beat its last, Loki’s broke entirely.

~

The bitter shards and splinters that remained healed crookedly, and as the centuries passed, Loki’s hatred grew. He despised the gods for keeping him from the one he loved, for failing to intervene on his behalf to save her, and he despised the mortals and their petty, senseless killing. His love had been lost for  _ nothing _ \- for a heap of charred stone and ruined fields. 

He watched the gods go on with their lives - immortal, blessed lives that they did not appreciate. He watched his family carry on as if Loki had lost nothing at all, as if the years he’d spent devoted to the little mortal from Midgard were nothing more than a youthful indiscretion, best forgotten. He watched his brother go off on his adventures, heaped with praise and adoration, while Loki’s spirit dimmed and faded. 

The gods did not care. They never had.

She did not matter to them.

They whispered that he was different.  _ Changed. _ Loki heard their whispers, and he hated them for that, too. They thought him fickle and weak-willed, a god so easily swayed by a mere mortal.

Loki cursed them, and he called upon the Norns to curse them, too. 


End file.
